I haven’t written anything in a while, and I’ll go ahead and say up front that I think it’s your fault.
You know, I have a funny little habit of not talking about my feelings, especially when words like “sad” and “not enough” hover on the tip of my tongue.
I’m very good at leaving them there, unsaid.
I’m very good at smiling past them.
I’m very good at leaving the pen untouched so I don’t have to write them.
But in all this mess of words I will never have the desire to say to you sitting heavy on my tongue, I am not saying anything else, either.
In this not writing out and on about you, these nights have not held the music of the tip of my pen soaring across the pages in a while.
And don’t you know that that’s the soundtrack of my life?
The shushing scratching sound of pages bending under the weight of my hand, the tick-ticking of my ceiling fan, the quiet hum of the lamp which lights my late nights, the gentle turnings of my paper crane wishes hanging above me as I pour my heart and my life out here on these pages.
It’s the soundtrack that lets me know I’m alive. It lets me know I’m really feeling, really breathing in my life.
And I will not keep the music on pause any longer to avoid those words on the tip of my tongue:
Sad. Somehow hurt. Not enough. Trying to be patient and understanding, but wondering when my time will come. Embarrassed and a little tearful. Unwilling to acknowledge my feelings if they don’t sound like what I think they should.
And somehow, in an awkward juxtaposition of emotions that only a thing as miraculous as the human heart could hold, there are other words:
Peaceful. Thankful. Honored. Waiting. The strange urge to paint the precise color of your hair in sunlight (although these are not a painter’s hands) which doesn’t have a word to name it.
All mixed together in some kind of concoction which has been spread on many a teenage girl’s toasted breakfast bread.
It’s impossible to name, this mixture of strong emotion and sodden napkins and “I’m sorry” and moments which I cannot explain without telling you that they were sunny. Sunny instants, forever tinted a lovely shade of yellow in my head.
But I am learning that just because it’s unnameable doesn’t mean it’s unwriteable.
And I am learning that the words on the tip of my tongue line up much better here on the page instead.
-Jessi Sanders 2012